


The Rite of Chorus

by MrRhapsodist



Series: Her Dark Desire [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Female Bonding, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Jedi Code (Star Wars), Loss, Master-Apprentice Romance, Philosophy, Sith Rituals, Sith Training, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRhapsodist/pseuds/MrRhapsodist
Summary: Sith Lord Fidelia Kallig has persuaded Ashara Zavros to join her cause. But the Togruta girl has lingering, crippling doubts about her path. Darth Zash offers a ritual to bind Ashara to the Sith, but the process can be a little messy, both physically and mentally. The rite will give Ashara the mother figure she needs, but to earn her loyalty, Fidelia must lower her shields and reveal the past that still haunts her.





	The Rite of Chorus

A thunderstorm passed through Dromund Kaas Spaceport the moment the _Kissai_ landed. With the ex-pirate Revel at the helm, the Sith interceptor touched down with minimal fuss. Landing struts clanked on the hard duracrete. Valves hissed with fresh steam as the ship settled into place, and for one long moment, everything outside—and inside—the starship fell eerily silent.

Once the ramp lowered, Lady Fidelia Kallig stepped out. Andronikos Revel fell into step behind her, as did the towering Khem Val.

Pausing at the foot of the ramp, Fidelia cast a glance over her shoulder. Her left eye—the one _not_ replaced with a cybernetic implant—twitched as her brow lifted.

“Well?” she asked. “Are you coming or not, my dear?”

Another pause. Then: “I’m coming! Coming now, I promise!”

Khem Val growled. “Leave her, Mistress. She is craven. Let her find her own way before my hunger returns.”

“Easy there, big guy.” Revel stepped in front of Fidelia, his hand already sliding down to the blaster on his hip. He smirked up at the Dashade, his scarred face twisting further. “You wanna cut down someone for a snack, you do it on _your_ time.”

Fidelia fought hard not to laugh. Honestly, her dear Andronikos was being sentimental, even with the tough pirate act. She found it endearing. Someday, she’d propose and make it official. Bind him to her forever, even if he went gallivanting across the galaxy in search of credits and scores to settle. But, for now, she delighted in seeing him try to stare down a hulking alien twice his size.

If nothing else, it distracted her from the flash of irritation she’d felt.

Seconds later, with anxious steps, Ashara Zavros emerged from the ship’s main hold. She still wore the blaster-scorched Jedi robes, still carrying the faint reek of Taris’s toxic air even after a shower on board the _Kissai._ Fidelia took a moment, remaining completely still, to observe the former Padawan inch her way down the landing ramp, her horns and head-tails slowly cutting the oppressive air inside the hangar bay. The girl’s face was an open book; awe, mingled with dread.

Fidelia shrugged. Everyone’s first reaction to Dromund Kaas was the same.

“Twovee,” she called into the ship’s interior. “Send a message ahead to the Sith Sanctum.” With a smile toward Ashara, the Sith Lord added, “My new pupil will require her own quarters.”

Faithful 2V-R8 clanked to the head of the ramp and nodded. “Of course, Mistress! At once!”

This banter elicited another rumble from Khem Val. But, to his credit, he obeyed and fell into step behind Fidelia and Revel once more. Ashara narrowly sidestepped the beast and slid up to the Sith Lord’s side, leaning in with an anxious glance and a hushed whisper.

“You weren’t kidding when you said there were worse places than Taris,” said the girl.

Fidelia took her by the arm. The Togruta stiffened, but Fidelia refused to let go or break pace. She led the Jedi to the turbolift, with their companions trailing behind them.

“Consider this,” said Fidelia, “your first lesson on the _true_ nature of the dark side. Power comes with a price. The power to act is often cause for disruption. And there are _so_ many disruptions on this gloomy little world.”

Ashara stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Are all Sith so disrespectful to their homeworld?”

“Only the ones who know it best, my dear.” Fidelia patted her arm. “In time, you’ll see...”

Nothing more needed to be said once the turbolift door slid shut.

* * *

“And how _is_ the apprentice working out, hmm?” It never failed to horrify—and delight—Fidelia when she heard Darth Zash’s voice coming out of a monster’s mouth. Watching poor Khem Val twist his guttural throat and jaw to suit those honeyed words. 

Oh, it was like the day she’d first learned about the Dread Masters. To know their power over fear and death—now _there_ was a goal worth pursuing.

It’d been weeks since the events on Taris. Mastering the ghost of Kalatosh Zavros had been simple, especially with Ashara’s help. They had done well together, even with certain setbacks. Horak-mul had been harder to tame in the frozen wastes of Hoth, but worth the experience. Confronting and losing to Darth Thanaton had been an utter humiliation, made worse by the ghosts tormenting her from head to toe, but then, even _that_ knowledge was useful. That pain fueled her rage, and her rage gave her focus on the long treks across the Outer Rim.

Sitting inside Zash’s former office, Fidelia slumped in the chair that once belonged to her former master. She took some small pleasure in watching Khem Val strut around with Zash in control, gesticulating with giant claws in the daintiest way.

Such small pleasures were rare. Fidelia took what she could get.

“She’s no Xalek,” Fidelia admitted. One hand pressed into her cheek, while the other’s fingers drummed across the obsidian desk. “I had some small hope to find her hunger, you know. It’s speciesist of me to say, but Togrutas and Kaleesh make for some of the best hunters around. I saw it in Xalek right away. But those blasted Jedi Masters...” Fidelia shook her head, staring into the glossy black surface of the table. “They’ve kept such a leash on the poor girl.”

“A leash can be a useful thing,” Zash reminded her. Fire blazed in her reptilian host’s eyes. “Especially if you require a kath hound who needs to be disciplined.”

“But that’s just _it,_ ” Fidelia replied. Her fingers froze over the desk, and she sat upright. “They neutered her strength. I saw those holos dozens of times on Taris. At each question, every point and turn, they block her. Spouting off some sanctimonious drivel about _peace_ and _balance_ and _the greater good!_ ” She laughed. “Greater good, my boot. They couldn’t get rid of a single meddlesome ghost.”

Zash chuckled. “Oh, dear. And here I thought you had learned to _harness_ your anger.”

“I’ve no control at the moment, it’s true.” As she spoke, Fidelia met the Dashade’s eyes. “And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She smiled, and she knew from the terror on Khem Val’s face that Zash had seen it, too. That brief flicker of violet, death-defying energy that came from her Force-walking. The way it overloaded her in Thanaton’s chambers would burn in her memory for years, but for that precise moment, Fidelia was grateful for the chaos swirling beneath her bones.

If nothing else, it gave her an edge against any move Zash might make to possess her body.

“Be that as it may,” Zash said, once she had recomposed her host’s face, “you still need to create a bond with the girl. Bind her fate to yours. Ensure that no Jedi can ever turn her back to the light.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” Fidelia crossed her arms. “A bottle of wine over dinner, perhaps?”

“Amusing as ever.” Zash’s tone went flat. Her Dashade body stepped closer to the desk, rearing to its full height. “No, Lady Kallig. There is a weakness you must expose. A seed of doubt that, even after all the business on Hoth, you still haven’t removed.”

“Ah, yes.” Fidelia leaned her elbows onto the desk, tucking her hands beneath her chin. “We can discuss her feelings in private, and then have a good cry later.”

“If you are _done_ being petulant,” Zash hissed, “I have an idea to help win Ashara over. Do you wish to hear it, or are you still amused with your own mockery?”

Fidelia’s smile dropped away. “Go on, then.”

“It is called the Rite of Chorus.” Khem Val folded his massive arms across his chest as Zash continued to speak through him. “A peculiar art of the dark side, developed by the sorcerer Dharma Ram over two millennia ago. Dharma Ram conducted many experiments at his estate, and he conceived of a way to infiltrate the dreams of his servants and apprentices. This ritual allowed him to glimpse their deepest fears and secrets, and so he foiled every move against his position.”

“How practical,” Fidelia remarked. “I could have used that against Thanaton over a week ago.”

“Indeed.” Zash laughed. “In fact, Dharma Ram was so successful that he ended up dying of old age. Of course, his most beloved student took a lightsaber to his still-warm body, but the point remains. His ritual survived in his notes, and I collected them a long time ago.”

Fidelia stared down at the obsidian desk, her brow furrowing.

“No, they’re not _here,_ ” Zash added with a slight huff. “I have them kept in one of my secret caches to the southeast.”

“Wonderful.” Stretching her arms out, Fidelia grunted as one of the vertebrae in her spine popped. “Mmm. I never get tired of these happy little excursions of ours. Lead the way.”

* * *

Several dead slaves and one tuk’ata battle later, they had the notes. They were written in faded, blood-smeared parchment in the old Sith tongue, but they were still legible. Or so Zash claimed. 

Fidelia stood confidently over the pale humanoids who had died to defend this remote sanctuary. The air around them and the dead Sithspawn reeked of blood and wet dirt; fresh rain was about to fall. She knelt down and began collecting blood samples from the tuk’ata, storing the vials on her belt. Her mind whirred with endless possibilities. If she could bottle that creature’s rage and loyalty, she’d be unstoppable.

And if Thanaton scoffed about how it defied his precious traditions, then so much the better.

* * *

Down the hall from her own quarters in the Sanctum, illuminated by crimson light panels, Fidelia found her way to Ashara’s room. She could taste the septic chemicals the droids used to clean it for her arrival. Even weeks later, they still lingered. 

The Togruta hadn’t been on Dromund Kaas for long. Always off on a mission at her mistress’s side, holed up with the others on board their ship.

They’d have to do something about that.

Fidelia paused before knocking.

“Come in!” a soft voice called out.

When the door slid open, Fidelia lowered her hood and let down her guard. Just a little. A chance for Ashara to look up from her desk and the scroll she’d been reading. Her eyes lit up when she noticed the aura of peace that the Sith Lord radiated—a far cry from the jealous and malevolent energies that the Sanctum encouraged.

“My lord.” Ashara closed the book and stood. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Welcome. I-I’m sorry, I had my comm turned off. Did you need something?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Fidelia kept up her smile and wandered over to the bed. It was the only other feature in the room apart from the desk.

A set of silver drawers were secured under the bed, and one small door led to a private refresher. But there were no Sith artifacts here, no display of lightsabers, no trophies or artwork to be admired alone. A purely spartan existence, which a true Jedi would’ve appreciated.

“I merely came to see how you were doing,” Fidelia continued. Sitting down on the bed, she folded her hands into her lap. “You did well on Hoth, by the way. I don’t recall if I said that yet.”

“Oh!” A slight pink hue rose on Ashara’s cheeks. “N-no, that’s...” She glanced down at her boots. “That’s very kind of you, my lord.”

“Kind, but also true.” Fidelia smirked. “Not unlike yourself, I must say.”

Ashara stared back, frowning. “Again, thank you. Not that I’d expect the Sith to appreciate someone’s kindness.”

“No, of course not. We’re all ravaging monsters who eat children sleeping in their beds at night.”

The Togruta’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t _say_ that.”

“It’s fine, my dear.” Fidelia picked off a piece of lint from the front of her crimson robes. “There’s no need to worry here. I chose these quarters before you moved in. No listening devices. No spycams. You can speak as freely as you like.”

“And read, I hope.” Ashara indicated the ancient leather-backed tome she’d been studying. “A gift from Zash, or so she claimed. It’s a scroll, written by the fallen Jedi Freedon Nadd.”

“And do you fear falling as he did?” Fidelia cut straight to the point. She lifted her chin in defiance, eyes locked on Ashara’s wavering expression. The air inside the room dropped by several degrees, all while the Force crackled to life inside her body, as if ready to summon and unleash a torrent of lightning.

But Ashara looked equally defiant. “I do, I suppose. Does that worry _you,_ my lord?”

“Only if you feel unsafe around me.” With some effort, Fidelia bit back on her fury. She’d been betrayed before, and she would be again. That was how the world of the Sith worked. But this Jedi girl couldn’t stomach such thoughts.

And, truth be told, Fidelia rather liked having her around. She’d _miss_ her, odd as it was to claim.

“I don’t,” Ashara answered. Rising from her chair, she stood in the middle of the room, pacing while she spoke. “But I suspect that perhaps other Sith don’t feel the same about me. I can tell, you know, when they’re watching me. That they _know_ I haven’t fully renounced the Jedi Code, or the light side of the Force. That some are ready to trap or corrupt me—”

Fidelia lifted her hand, and Ashara fell silent.

“Let me be clear, Ashara,” she said in a low voice. “Any Sith who dares to lay a hand on you will lose that hand. Any Sith who thinks of hurting you under _my_ watch will be driven into madness.”

The Togruta’s face went pale. Fidelia laughed, and she rose from the bed. Before Ashara could protest, the Sith Lord reached out and took her by the hands. Locking together their fingers, Fidelia looked into the girl’s eyes and smiled, filling up with the warmth of a summer’s day.

“I did not choose you, my dear,” she continued, “to be some Jedi pet at my feet. I chose you to be a partner in my endeavors. An _equal._ Something your Jedi Masters would never do. And if we are ever to reform the Empire and forge peace with the Republic, then we must do so as _one._ No doubt can hold us back. No sacrifice is too great for us. Do you understand?”

“I do,” said the Togruta, with some hesitation.

Fidelia smiled and stepped close. Their faces were almost touching, and she could’ve closed the space between them, let her passions and her interest get the better of her.

Her fire burned behind her obsidian core. There it would remain, until needed again.

“Then come with me,” she told the Jedi. “I have something for you. A gift to put your mind at ease and unlock your power.”

* * *

Far to the south of Kaas City, there stood a small rocky ridge overlooking a dreary jungle valley. Thunder roiled and boomed in the thick clouds above as Fidelia parked her landspeeder next to the mouth of a small cavern. Stepping out, she investigated the ground for signs of activity. She saw with both her eyes and with the magnifying power of the Force. But no other beings had disturbed this place. Sleens and the occasional yozusk had tramped through this area of the jungle, but none had made their home in the nearby cavern or found suitable prey at this height.

It was perfect. The spirits bound within Fidelia concurred.

“We’ll begin here,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Ashara.

Watching the Togruta leave the speeder, she used the Force to gently lift the ritual supplies from her arms. A small black basin, carved into a bowl for the burning of incense, floated from Ashara’s grip. It came to rest at Fidelia’s feet, and she waited for the handfuls of incense to settle into the bowl as well. As for the notes Zash had obtained, they remained safely locked away in her quarters.

The Sith Lord would not need the text. She had memorized every line after three nights’ study.

“ _Zhol kash dinora,_ ” Fidelia chanted softly to herself in the ancient tongue. As she spoke, she lit the incense with a spark from her fingertips. She and Ashara watched thin coils of smoke drift into the night sky. “ _Saarai, rhak-skuri nin midwan. Nun nwûl qyâsik, nun nwûl qyâsik..._ ”

Ashara glanced at her from across the burning incense. “I’m not sure if I like this.”

“Then you’d best leave now,” the Sith replied. Fidelia lifted her eyes from the embers flickering in the basin. “Once this power is unleashed, it is very dangerous to put back. There can be no doubts here, my sweet. Not at this stage.”

The girl, who once had been a Padawan, nodded and remained still. Fidelia continued her chant. She did not hesitate to breathe in the smoke drifting off the black basin, or to let her mouth catch a short puff of ash. It tasted like death, and she exalted in it. Ever since the day back at the estate. Ever since the day she’d been introduced to Sith power.

Reaching for her side, she produced a small dagger. Taking it by the blade, Fidelia pricked her bare fingertip. She winced at the gash and watched a few drops land in the pyre below.

The smoke settled for a moment, briefly quenched by her blood.

“Your turn,” she told Ashara, and handed her the dagger.

The Togruta looked sick. “What kind of twisted magic _is_ this?”

“A magic that will unlock doors few Sith are willing to acknowledge,” Fidelia insisted. “And neither would the Jedi, for that matter. These are doors to truth and power that come with a price. Doors that the sorcerer Dharma Ram opened centuries ago, bringing him a peace that lasted until his final breath on his deathbed.”

She decided, for courtesy’s sake, not to tell the girl about the gruesome fate his body met later.

“If you would see peace between us,” Fidelia added, “then you must first find it within yourself. Even your former Masters would have agreed with me.”

“But not your methods.” Still, even with that grumble, Ashara took the blade. She hesitated, but at an encouraging smile from Fidelia, she cut open her own finger.

Her blood fell onto the pyre, and Fidelia felt the air grow colder and heavier.

So far, so good.

“And now we come to it,” she explained. Lifting both hands over the basin, Fidelia breathed onto the incense and willed the ashes to reignite. “A door will be opened to us, my dear, and we will walk through it together. All doubts will be erased. All paths will be revealed. And, hopefully, there will be a path that both a Jedi and a Sith can walk together.”

When the smoke curled back toward her face, Fidelia closed her eyes and knelt down. She waited for Ashara to do likewise before proceeding.

Around them, the wind had begun to pick up. It shook the treetops below the ridge. A distant howl from a jurgoran reached Fidelia’s ears, and she smiled. Whatever power they summoned was strong enough that even the terrain could feel it. With clenched fists in her lap, she breathed in the smoke, and she tasted blood and ash on the wind.

“ _Châts chwayat,_ ” she intoned, immersed in the Rite of Chorus once more. “ _Jiaasjen Jidai, jiaasjen grotthu, jiaasjen saarai-kaar siqsa!_ ”

Lightning swirled across her palms. Fidelia savored the sensation of her flesh growing hot without burning. She felt the lightning leave her hands and crackle in the air between her and Ashara. The Togruta’s aura burned bright in the Force as well. A miniature sun, but one with a cloud passing over it. That twilight inside the Jedi’s heart was a gateway, much like the one Dharma Ram had found in his slaves and his students.

 _Not a slave,_ Fidelia reminded herself. _A friend, if any Sith can be said to have one._

In her mind’s eye, she saw the pretty Togruta kneeling in the dirt. She saw them side-by-side and back-to-back, lightsabers drawn against caverns full of enemies on Hoth and Taris. Their voices rose in shouts as they cut down rakghouls, Republic troops, Jedi Knights, and mercenaries. But there were quieter moments, too. Idle chatter over steaming cups of tea on board the _Kissai,_ and quiet laughter over something Revel had said from the cockpit. Fidelia saw that look on Ashara’s face, pensive and guarded, as she chewed over something the Sith Lord had taught her in private.

All those precious moments were the key. Fidelia let herself into Ashara’s core.

And, she realized with slight horror, she was just as vulnerable to the Jedi girl.

What Fidelia saw amid smoke and blood were the toxic pools outside the Jedi Enclave. She tasted Ashara’s resentment toward weaker students in her class, to cowards and washouts that Ocera and Ryen had coddled. Pushing deeper through the red mists, Fidelia saw a homestead on fire, and she felt the girl fall to her knees, dropping her lightsaber as regret pierced her heart. There were good people in there, settlers on Taris, and she’d been too slow to protect them. All because the Jedi had failed to _act._

 _Good,_ thought Fidelia, _but let’s go a little deeper..._

Earlier memories unfurled themselves. Two older Togrutas, a male and a female, stood over their child, thrilling her with stories of their Force-sensitive ancestors. But when Fidelia pushed past, she saw Ashara, all of five years old, weeping over a hologram of her parents, and she recognized that these Togrutas were different. They wore Jedi robes and they cradled an infant in their loving arms. All their surviving child had to offer was more tears. Flashes came of war and a burning temple. The Sacking of Coruscant, where Darth Malgus had triumphed without effort.

Fidelia mentally added him to the list of people she’d cut down once her power was secure.

But even with all this knowledge burning inside her, she felt a chill permeate her spirit.

This was Ashara.

Reaching into _her._

Fidelia could’ve resisted. Zash’s notes had permitted that. For all that Dharma Ram had sought to steal from his servants’ minds, he would not brook any of his thoughts to be made manifest.

But, instead, she relented. Fidelia closed her eyes, and she let Ashara look.

Life as a slave had not been kind. Let her see, she thought. Let her see the burning brand of a plasma whip across her bare back for daring to leave the estate grounds. Let her smell the burning flesh and feel those tears spill down her cheeks. Let her see that fat old master of the house who called Fidelia to his bed nightly, to massage his corpulent form and offer tender kisses at his beck and call. Let her hear the mocking laughter of her lord’s dinner guests when he shoved a young girl to her knees and poured acrid wine down her throat.

But not everything was _so_ bad. She let Ashara, whose presence trembled under the weight of such raw agony, look deeper. To the best of those early days.

There was a fateful night, one that Fidelia cherished most.

The night when Darth Varion came to the estate with a pair of Imperial soldiers, accussing her obese and bejeweled master of stealing from the treasury in Kaas City with help from an insider. All the house slaves had gathered around the white pillars that lined the portico where Lord Varion’s booming voice challenged the feeble old man. He quailed and blubbered out a thousand excuses, all while a small and bitter Fidelia saw the Sith Lord’s yellow eyes peer out at the slaves in the columns.

 _This one is strong in the Force,_ he had told her master. _Would you deny her to us as well?_

But, in a flash, Fidelia saw her master’s thoughts. She sensed his hesitation, as well as a nagging thought that, if he were only quick enough to reach for the holdout blaster hidden in his robes...

He never got that far.

With a cry, she was on top of him, pinning him from behind. Her fingers had burned with white-hot rage, and her eyes had gone wide with the searing memory of every punshiment and humiliation. Oh, what a joy it had been to watch the old brute squirm under her grip. To see his eyes bulge and his throat constrict under her small, slender hands. Some power had spilled out of her in that moment, dark and ravenous. She let it take over, and she crushed the life from the old man’s throat with a triumphant shout.

No one said a word. Neither of the Imperial soldiers moved.

Only Darth Varion, hooded in his midnight cloak, had clapped his hands and laughed.

 _Now that,_ he said, _is an excellent audition, young one. You will fit in well on Korriban._

In the distance, beyond the memory, Fidelia heard a whimper. It was not her voice, but Ashara’s. She instinctively reached out to her, bridging the gap through the Force and through time. A small human hand clutched at an orange Togruta’s fingers. Their hands locked together, and a hiss of power through the light and dark sides of the Force echoed between them.

When Fidelia opened her eyes, she let the tears fall freely.

The incense on the black basin had burned itself away, leaving only smoke and the faintest whiff of dried blood.

* * *

Back in her own body, Fidelia shivered against the cold air. If she were down in the jungle, she wouldn’t need her cloak, but on the high ridge, she drew it close around her shoulders.

Looking over at Ashara, she saw the Togruta fall back on her rear. The girl—no, she reminded herself, the young woman—had drawn her legs up and tucked her chin on top of them. Her horns dipped, and her head-tails slid over her forearms with equal misery. 

“Ashara?” Rising to her feet, Fidelia crept around the incense bowl. Rock and dirt vibrated under her boots, but she moved as quietly as she could to where the young woman had ducked her head. She settled down beside her, legs tucked underneath, hands out but not touching. A fresh wind buffeted their robes, and Fidelia brushed a whiff of old ash away from her nose.

“Why’d you do this?” Ashara whispered. Her slender frame shivered. “Why did you show me this? I didn’t _need_ to relive all that, my lord. I could have told you if you’d only asked!”

“Because that’s not true, is it?” Fidelia lowered her voice. “You have carried this burden since long before we met. Since long before you went to Ocera for training as a Jedi. Your parents died to a Sith attack. Your masters died to the work of a malvolent ghost and a deadly Sith assassin. And every Jedi you’ve encountered since then has either fought you or rejected you. And so you’ve grown bitter and afraid.” She paused. “And I do so _hate_ to see you in such pain, my love.”

“Master Cyman said I wasn’t a true Jedi,” the Togruta whined. When her head lifted, her eyes burned with hatred. A small part of Fidelia was pleased; the rest of her was moved to pity. “But what _is_ a Jedi if not someone who follows their Code?”

“And where does it say,” Fidelia reminded her, “that the Code is only meant for Jedi Knights? Hmm? If a slave of the Empire uses the Sith Code to break their chains and overthrow their masters, does that slave automatically become a Sith Lord?”

“You did,” Ashara spat back.

Fidelia smiled at the acid in her voice. “Yes, I did. And I would do it again if I had to, Ashara. Just as you would seek out someone like _me_ if it meant putting Kalatosh’s ghost to rest again.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Ashara let Fidelia put her arms around her, and she craned her horns into the soft matte hair of her mentor. They held on tight, sharing warmth against the brisk mountain air and the heavy fog rolling in from east of the valley below. Fidelia held onto Ashara until she had silently wept out all her grief for her parents, for her masters, and for the life she’d once known as a Jedi Knight.

 _Let her be something else,_ Fidelia whispered to the Force. _Let her be what she chooses._

“Come,” she said out loud. “It’s getting cold, and we should be getting back. There is still plenty of work to be done with Thanaton, and—”

“I have a question,” Ashara interrupted.

Fidelia let go of her. She stared for a moment, her frown puzzled. “Go ahead.”

“This ritual...” Ashara rose to her feet, already pacing around as she spoke. Fidelia stood and kept silent. “I just don’t _get_ it. I mean, you have all this power, this gateway to people’s minds, and you don’t use it on Thanaton. Why not? Is it Sith custom? Or is there a danger you won’t risk for that kind of power?”

“Careful, love,” Fidelia replied. “You’re beginning to sound more like a Sith than a Jedi.”

“I know.” Ashara whipped around. Fidelia didn’t go for her lightsaber or summon lightning to her hands. She didn’t fear her apprentice’s reaction.

“I know,” said the Togruta again. “I’m something else, aren’t I? Not fully a Jedi, not quite a Sith. Loyal to the light, but...” She shook her head, and her head-tails trembled. “Cast into shadows.”

“Where _aren’t_ there shadows, my sweet?” Fidelia laughed and stepped closer. She reached out and lifted the young woman’s chin with her hand. Their eyes met, and a sudden need burned inside her chest. “Every hall of power, every ancient tomb, every farmer’s homestead. They all carry a shadow or two. Something secret. Something that someone aches to protect at all costs. And we who carry a light within us seek to expose those shadows. We ferret out every secret. Unearth every artifact. Expose every crime. And do you know why?”

Ashara remained silent. Through the Force, Fidelia felt her heart racing toward lightspeed. 

She leaned in, their lips almost touching.

“Because nothing,” she said, “is worth anything in this galaxy except for passion. And what we share, my dear, is a passion for knowledge. I have seen yours.” She paused and smiled. “Can you see mine...?”

Their lips met, Ashara being the one to instigate it. She gripped Fidelia’s hands to her breast, and Fidelia let the young woman lead her. She sighed into the kiss, and one of her fingers traced a line down the nearest head-tail. Feeling the Togruta shiver against her touch was exhilarating. Tasting her mouth was a delight. Their bodies and hearts outshone the stars above, and none of the cold winds could touch them.

Fidelia pulled back, smiling, and clasped her hands around Ashara’s face. She laughed and pressed their foreheads together, savoring the blush on that patterned face as Ashara slid her gaze to the ground.

“I never...” With a gasp, Ashara caught her breath. “I never knew it could be so nice. I like it...”

“As do I.” Fidelia giggled—actually, _giggled,_ Force be kind—and leaned in to kiss her on the nose. “How do you feel now? Tell me everything.”

“Good!” The word came out in another gasp, followed by a smile. “I feel good. Clean, almost. Like I just stepped out of a nice hot bath...” Ashara shook her head. “What am I saying? This is so bizarre, all these emotions I’m having. _‘There is no emotion; there is peace...’_ ”

“And that peace came from your _passion,_ ” Fidelia reminded her. She tilted Ashara’s head down further, kissing the spot right between her eyes. The younger woman laughed and drew back, but the Sith Lord held on tight. “Never forget this, my love. Passion and peace can coexist. If there’s to be any hope of peace in this galaxy...”

“We have to be true to our passions,” Ashara finished. She grinned. “I understand, my lord. Thank you for that.”

Fidelia caressed the side of the alien’s face. Tracing every swirl of white-and-orange skin, trying to memorize every pattern like she’d studied the Sith spell. “My dearest. I am here for you. Wherever your journey takes you, I am there. No matter who you lost years ago, or what Order you’ve abandoned, you will always have a place with me. I swear it by the stars themselves.”

Another chill settled over her. In that instant, she sensed her words rang true in the Force.

Well, so be it. She could not have asked for a better companion in such dark days.

“We must head back now,” Fidelia told her partner, keeping one arm draped across her shoulders. “Thanaton’s minions are already on the move, and there are so _many_ Sith to cast down before this Empire ever gets any better. I can’t do it alone. Do you think a Jedi would be willing to help?”

A light sparkled in Ashara’s eyes, and Fidelia adored it. “Of course, my lady. I’d be glad to do my part.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't played SWTOR in a while, but I adored this character pairing too much to stay away from it in fanfiction. And, to be honest, I wanted to play around with hurt/comfort tropes, Sith rituals, and a little bit of philosophy. This seemed too good an opportunity to pass up, and I hope you reading it enjoyed it even half as much as I did writing it.


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